Summer Sunflowers

I can't remember the last time I bought flowers or the last time I enjoyed a bunch as much as the sunflowers I brought home Sunday. They're lemon yellow sunflowers, cut before they've had a chance to make seeds. The centers are thick with deep yellow petals and even the buds are beginning to burst with yellowness.

There's something about the way they stand in the vase, their heads held ready, not in prayer but in praise of the day, that makes me happy. As if at any moment they're going to break into a song, a bit of morning gospel or early evening Motown. I swear they have personality. There's one that stands differently, hangs back, refuses to face any direction I suggest. I've decided it's the prettiest back of a sunflower I've ever had.

I've thought about this before, this natural season of flowers. How their seasons mark the passing time; paper whites after Christmas, then tulips and ranuculus for my birthday. How the field flowers, rainbow asters, calliopsis and sweet williams don't bloom until after the last cap and gown has been stored away.

And how sunflowers any other time of the year, except now, when the sun has changed; has put on some blush; how only now do sunflowers seem right. Against all this late summer light.

Sunflowers for the Conscious Shopper's caring that made my day.